


The Tea Party

by SanSanFanFan



Series: The Tea Party [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tea Party, lemoncakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An invitation arrives for Sansa Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tea Party

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by http://houndandbird.tumblr.com/post/101117869863/dear-sansa-hello-id-like-to-invite-you-to-tea-with-ser with some slight alterations
> 
> Written for 'Anonymous' for the SSFF birthday gift fic prompt request doodah. They wanted fluff set in King's Landing.
> 
> Art by Bevsi, commissioned by Kitamere :D
> 
> More fics to follow.]

 

The invitation was brought to her by a bored page, knocking curtly at her chamber door that bright Summer’s morning. Sansa had taken the carefully rolled, and very thick, parchment, with a cautious hand, her heart in her throat as she quickly, too quickly, scanned the flowing script written by some scribe of court. There was a golden gilt on the edges, and the ink itself was a bright purple shade. Such an elaborate invitation must surely have come from the King… which meant yet another supper in his company. Yet another night of meekly nodding and saying her pleasantries as Joffrey described, in detail, what he wanted to do to her brother. And to her.

But then… she peered closer at the last lines where she expected to see Joffrey’s name in his spiky, attacking hand. She saw instead… Prince Tommen Baratheon! The hand was the same as the rest, so the little prince had no doubt had the scribe write it all out for him. Sansa sat on her bed and reread the invitation, letting the words actually sink in this time. She was invited… to a tea party!

Sansa stifled a giggle. She had played at such things as a child of course. She should now be far beyond such fancies, but the idea charmed her. And Tommen was such a sweet boy. She would happily play at afternoon tea if it pleased him.

So later that very day, with the invitation clasped so tightly in her hand that it had wrinkled, she made her way through the lonely corridors of the keep towards Tommen’s rooms. She held the invitation in front of her as if it were a talisman to allow her passage. If she was found here she could show it to him, suffer his mocking of her for her childish game for a moment or two, and then be on her way under the protection of the prince’s invitation.

How strange, she thought, that she had decided that it would be him who would find her in the corridors and mock her. The Hound.

She supposed that it was only a thought based upon experience. He did seem to come across her path with a regularity that was… disconcerting.

But no matter. He could mock her and call her a child, but she was looking forward to an afternoon of pretence. As they played at courtesies and made civil conversation she could also pretend that she was not Sansa Stark, daughter of the traitor and honoured ‘guest’ of King Joffrey Baratheon.

She knocked politely at Tommen’s door.

“Come in… please!” Came the high pitched response and she opened the door. A smile spread quickly across her face as she saw the treat that was waiting for her. She’d assumed that the boy wanted to just play at having a tea party, but then she saw a serving girl lifting plates of actual cakes and laying them out for them. There were also delicate bone china cups and saucers, and a fat bellied pot of tea steamed away happily. At some of the low chairs sat dolls, Myrcella’s perhaps, although one of the places was taken the prince himself, dressed in fine clothes, a cat happily curled about in his lap. Was that Ser Pounce or Lady Whiskers? They all looked alike to Sansa…

“My Lady!” He stood, quickly depositing the annoyed cat onto the table, where unseen by Tommen, it bit quickly into a cake and raced off with it. “You came!”

She curtsied, holding her skirts out to make even more flamboyant for him. “How could I possibly refuse such a beautiful invitation?”

He gestured to a chair as the serving girl finished up. “Your Highness.” She said with a smile, bobbing her own smaller curtsey.

“Thank you Marissa! You can go now.” The girl left, Sansa noting the warm smile that remained on her face. Tommen seemed make everyone love him a little. How different he was to his older brother…

“Please… please take a seat!” Sansa curtsied again, just a little, and sat neatly in one of the small chairs at the small table. It had obviously been made for the prince himself, so perfectly it fit him. But she felt a little like a giant as she made herself as comfortable as she could.

And then she saw the lemoncakes.

Tommen smiled as he noted her pleased look. “I asked cook what you like. Look, they even have cream and sugar icing! Or there’s rich fruitcake, almond cakes, and those there, they are spiced ones from the recipes of Lys!”

Sansa wanted to try a little of everything, but she paused, allowing Tommen to pass her a plate first.

“Shall I pour?” She said, her hand moving already to the fat pot.

“No, not just yet.” She nodded, unsure why he was waiting. And then she saw the odd cup sat before the remaining chair. Whereas the rest of the fine cups were delicate little things with tiny flowers in blues and green painted on them with a thin hair brush, this other cup was a large earthenware thing, more akin to a bowl than a cup, with a large handle. Were they… were they waiting for someone else? Sansa began to ask the question when another knock came at the door.

“Oh good! He’s here!” Tommen clapped his hands together. “Come in… please!”

The large figure that opened the door and dashed in quickly was covered over in a hooded, olive green cloak. A suspicion formed in Sansa’s mind and pooled sickly in her stomach. Oh gods…

“My Lady, we have the honour of the company of Ser Hound this day as well!”

The Hound drew back his hood, and looked straight at her in disbelief.

“What in the seven he- what are you doing here?!”

“I have an invitation.” Sansa held it up to him, clenching it in her fist. Just like some sort of simpleton, she thought, groaning inside.

“I invited her. She likes lemon cakes.”

“Does she now.” The Hound removed his cloak, revealing a simple, but clean tunic, and leather breeches. Had she ever seen him out of his armour? Even his hair looked fresh washed and combed.

“Come, sit, please.” Tommen gestured and the Hound moved to the table. Sansa was surprised to see him carefully move the doll there aside, setting it down gently next to one of its companions in another chair rather than flinging it away as she had expected. He sat down slowly, swamping the chair, his knees pushed up high. But he did not complain.

“Tea?” Asked Tommen, and Sansa moved with the Hound to pour it for the prince. Their fingers met in the air and both of them pulled away.

“I’ll pour.” Said Sansa smiling.

“I usually pour.” Said Sandor in his low, rasping voice. Usually? Did they do this often then? Her mind boggled at this new information about the furious warrior.

She deferred to him, and he poured them out a measure each, although in his earthenware cup, a measure was a large thing indeed.

“Cakes? Take a lemoncake Sansa” She smiled at Tommen and did as he suggested. They were very good, especially with the cream and sugar icing.

“Little bird, you have something…” the Hound went to touch at her nose with his large finger, but stopped himself. Sansa blushed and cleared away the white sweetness with a frilly napkin.

“Why do you call her little bird, Ser Hound?” Asked Tommen between bites of the almond cake.

Yes, tell him, thought Sansa archly, watching the large man squirm in his tiny chair.

“It’s a term of endearment your highness.”

“Oh good! But what do you call him, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa blushed a little. When she thought on him… which she was loathe to admit that she did… she thought of him simply as the Hound. She knew his name of course, but he would never let her call him ‘ser’ or ‘lord’, and it did not seem appropriate to refer to him by his first name. They were not that well acquainted...

“Perhaps I should call him Ser Hound as well?”

“Oh no!” Said Tommen as the Hound grumbled into his rich fruit cake. “Only I can do that. Because when I was small I did not know that he did not like it.” He leant closer to Sansa and whispered to her conspiratorially. “And now I am older, I know he does not, and I still do it!”

Sansa laughed at the Hound’s eye rolling.

“Have another cake, Sansa! Can I call you that?”

“Your highness can call me whatever he wishes.” She took another… another lemoncake.

“Of course… and soon I will call you sister!”

The cake in Sansa’s hand paused on its path to her mouth and shook a little as she regained her composure.

“Good weather we’ve been having.” Said the Hound in his deep voice.

“It’s Summer. The weather is always good.” Said Tommen in confusion, looking back and forth at her and the Hound.

A strange noise from beneath the table interrupted the stimulating conversation, and as one the three of them looked below.

One of the cats was retching over the Hound’s boot, covering it over with a foul mess that looked a little like white icing.

“What in the buggering seven hells-!” Yelled the Hound.

“Don’t curse. Mother said you weren’t to curse around me!”

The Hound fumed as Sansa struggled to hold in her laughter, resorting to placing a hand over her mouth.

“Lady Whiskers is sorry, I am certain of it.” Said Tommen cheerfully.

“Good bloody leather these boots…” Grumbled the Hound under his breath, pushing the black cat away with his foot, but not ungently.

They resumed their upright positions, and Sansa felt water at the corner of her eyes. How long had it been since her tears were made by laughter and not terror and grief? She pushed such thoughts from her mind quickly.

“I like your dress Sansa. You always dress so nicely.” Said Tommen, his mouth full of cake again.

“Thank you your Highness. It is kind of you to notice.” Sansa smiled warmly at him.

“I’ve seen it too, you know…. You have pretty feathers, little bird.”

Sansa looked up at him in surprise. The glower on his face from the cat’s illness was still there, and the compliment almost sounded begrudging. But it was a compliment nonetheless.

“Thank you… Ser Hound.” She suddenly remembered to thank him, but threw in Tommen’s name for him at the last moment to rib him. But then the man looked at her intently, as though he’d noticed something for the first time.

The rest of the tea party passed quickly in idle chatter. Mostly, of course, between Sansa and Tommen. She learnt more about the prince in that brief time than she had ever known before. And even though he did not speak as much, she thought she had learnt some important things about the Hound that afternoon as well.

Eventually, Tommen announced sadly that it was time for his afternoon nap. His mother said was necessary if he was to grow to be a strong and brave warrior. Sansa could not imagine this sweet little boy as a warrior. As a good and gentle king perhaps… a better man than Joffrey was becoming certainly.

Sandor rose awkwardly from the tiny chair and offered Sansa his arm. “I’ll take the lady back to her chambers.”

She was surprised by the gesture but rose elegantly and went to his side. Together they bowed and curtsied to the prince, who smiled back at them. “You look like a lord and his lady!”

They both let that pass uncommented on. And then they were walking away down the corridor, where the Hound let his arm drop, releasing her.

“That was… a pleasant afternoon.”

He grunted. It could have been in agreement, she was not certain. They walked on in silence, until Sansa could bear it no longer.

“Are you ashamed?!”

He turned to her.

“Ashamed? What the fuck do you mean?!”

“You came to his chambers hooded… are you ashamed that the great and mighty Hound regularly enjoys tea parties with the prince? Do you fear the laughter of other men?!”

He barked out a sharp laugh. “I don’t give a shit about the laughter of other men. With this, I’ve heard enough of it.” He jabbed a finger at his face.

“Then why…?”

He paused, and then snapped out the words.

“Tommen’s brother and mine have a lot in common. And neither of them are best pleased by others playing with their toys. _Any_ of their toys.”

He looked intently at her then, his dark eyes roaming over her.

“Joffrey cannot know about this. Any of this.”

His hand raised itself then, almost it seemed of its own accord, and she felt his fingertips trace over the skin of her cheek. Her eyes opened wide at his touch, her lips parting.

“You had some icing… on your cheek.” He said gruffly before he turned and started to walk again.

“Come now, little bird. Time to return to your cage.”

And she followed after him, behind him, her hand moving to touch the cheek he had touched.


End file.
